


Skin Game

by justlikeabaroness



Series: Folie à Deux [4]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Car Sex, Interrogation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nightmares, Smut, Stabbing, Surprise Kissing, Unrequited Love, Whiny Jongdae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7881892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeabaroness/pseuds/justlikeabaroness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard not to be angry at Minseok. They were best friends - hell, they still are - and yet he never had a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Game

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: "Hyeongsa" is the Korean transliteration for "Detective."
> 
> A/N #2: The Hwaesong serial murders were a series of unsolved killings that happened in Gyeonggi Province in the 1980s. There were ten victims, but the killer was never found.
> 
> A/N #3: I added a dubcon tag just to be safe, but the amount of time where that may be an issue is very brief.

When Luhan sleeps now, he sees two faces.

He sees Sehun's, of course - but not unbruised, rather as a crumbling statue, with the usual holes for eyes, but instead of a human voice, teeth and tongue, spiders pour from his ex-lover's open mouth, cacophonous screaming piercing his eardrums with synthesized pain. By now, he's numbly accepting of the dream, no longer screaming or begging to be saved. It's his lot, to be haunted. He knows that he deserves it. 

The other face is the one that frightens him. The plaster head turns, Sehun's dead, raging eyes giving way to a Chinese man's cadaverous cheeks and pressed mouth, never moving, never speaking, simply staring. The dark eyes are calm and disappointed, waiting for an explanation, when Luhan has none to give. He has not encountered Wu Yifan in months, and has no idea why he sees him now. And yet, he can feel the danger. He knows the air; he knows the disaffected look on the other man's face. He can't run. Yifan-ge simply stares at him, eyes placid, until he lowers his gaze. When Luhan bows his head - and he always does - Yifan seems to reach out and touch him, tapping on his forehead, twice, then five times in rapid succession. What it means, he doesn't know. But it's always the same. Two. Then five. 

But that's when the burning begins. Flames mold with his body, his being, until he's no longer human, no longer alive, no longer anything that can cause anyone trouble or burden. But as he is ready to give up the ghost, he always hears Minseok begin to cry. 

He jerks awake, drenched in sweat, eyes so wide his sinuses ache, hands beating the mattress to stop them burning until he realizes it's no longer real. Luhan takes a deep breath, willing the terror out of his gut and his lungs and throat. His breath is not ragged, he notes, and considers it a small victory. Things are as they should be. Minseok is snoring softly on the couch, a book draped haphazardly over his chest. Life is quiet, dreary, even ordinary. 

Luhan laughs softly, tapping twice on his outstretched palm with a partially steady index finger. _Ordinary._

He doesn't want to think about the tong right now. Or ever. The Ordinary Group is the author of so many ills. And yet, it led him to Minseok.

He rises unsteadily, his legs betraying him for half a second before coming online, and makes his way over to Minseok, who is still asleep. He takes the extra couch pillow, and curls into a ball on the floor at Minseok's feet, hoping he doesn't dream. He falls back asleep tapping absently on the pillow.

*** 

Coming to work nowadays requires an abundance of skills that Kim Jongdae has, in truth, never possessed. Being a detective requires certain traits, at least on paper, and Jongdae has those. Intelligence? Yes. The ability to react quickly under pressure? Definitely. A healthy bullshit tolerance? Healthy enough.

But it takes a special kind of soulless machine to come to work with a double caseload and a high priority manhunt on his mind. Jongdae's vaunted bullshit tolerance has withered and died on the vine lately, especially since the empty desk where his best friend used to sit is directly in his line of vision every time he looks up. The man he is professionally obligated to hunt from here to Narnia and back, if need be.

It's hard not to be angry at Minseok. They were best friends - hell, they still are - and yet he never had a clue. Not one single hint that Minseok would go over to the fucking gangs, would fucking go rogue and steal shit and kidnap someone and forget everything they'd practiced from the academy to now. It's hard not to just lose himself to the rage that comes with personal and professional betrayal - but Jongdae can't do that, because if he did, he'd wind up immobilized for days, or he'd wind up in jail for throttling the first person to piss him off. It takes a lot to make him angry, but when he gets there, it burns like liquor traced with gasoline. He's been burned before, and he cannot allow himself to wallow in being burned again. 

So he has to bury it.

And bury it he does, in days of useless shit and fake tips, "morale boosting" talks with his team and about four too many triple espressos every day. Jongdae gets really good at encouraging eager young trainees and rookies to pursue avenues he just knows are a waste of time, because he knows that Minseok is far too smart to do shit like use his real name or go back to stomping grounds he knows in his sleep. Minseok is the best undercover officer he's ever seen - the man is, quite simply, a ghost. Even with a hostage. And now he's decided to use that ability for evil.

At least he thinks so. He likes to think that if Minseok was in trouble, if this wasn't some greedy play for power and money, he could come to Jongdae. Minseok is the man who taught him how to be a detective. Jongdae owes him, and now he'll probably never get the chance to pay up. 

Jongdae throws the phone back into the cradle irritably after yet another fake tip has wasted yet more of his time. It's been almost two months since Minseok disappeared with only the loss of several cargo manifests written in Mandarin to mark his passing, yet the latest bullshit merchant insisted that Minseok was now mixing with the tongs in Macao. Jongdae had enjoyed snarling about Standard Cantonese and its official status in that Special Autonomous Region, right into the caller's ear, before emphatically hanging up. 

He really should talk to the Chinese again. He's tried before, but every polite and impolite call to the nightclub in Yangcheon-gu that serves as an unofficial base of sorts has landed him in front of either a polite, smiling functionary who claims blissful ignorance, or in front of a rat-faced, oily bastard named Huang Zitao. Huang acts outraged, offended that the SMPA is bothering him and his employees _yet again_ , basically threatening to make a nuisance of himself with both the press and the captain, Jongdae's superior. Then Jongdae has to spend an hour in the captain's office reassuring him that he has no interest in pissing off the Chinese gentlemen who sink untold craploads of yuan into the Korean economy. Hours that he isn't using to find Minseok. 

Jongdae shoves himself to a sitting position, curtly telling his colleague at the next desk that he'll be back, that he just wants some air. The office has become stifling. 

He doesn't expect to walk into an ambush. But as he exits the building and turns the corner, he senses rather than feels a blade being pressed against his ribs. "Come with me, _Hyeongsanim_ ," a quiet voice says behind him, as calmly as if he'd asked for the time of day. "I really don't have any objections to gutting you here if you don't." 

Jongdae has been trained for this, and knows his options. While he's in good enough shape to pass regulation inspections, he isn't, probably, as buff as he needs to be to take this asshole by surprise. There will be a chance later - there always is - and God knows people will notice if he doesn't return, not least of all because they basically expect him to be there 24 hours a day. So, he doesn't protest, allowing himself to be led down the street, toward a taxicab idling. 

The man doesn't let his arm go even after they're in the back and he's given the driver an address in Hongdae. He still waits for any opportunity, a chance to wrench it free and vault out of the car, even if it's moving, but there just isn't one. Traffic patterns seem designed to fuck him, for once flowing relatively smoothly, and his captor never once lets his hold drop, not even for a fraction of a second. They pull up to a club, and Jongdae can't help but raise an eyebrow; this hardly seems a place for a showdown. Or a murder. Indeed, the inside is well appointed and even kind of classy - hard, for a dance club - but Jongdae is frog-marched past it all, into a service elevator bound for fuck knows where. 

It's only when they hear the elevator car's dull thud that signifies its journey's end that his captor speaks - one word, "Out" - and uses his hold on Jongdae's arm to shove him forward and out, into what looks like a wine cellar. No bottles on the walls, though; no corkscrews handily nearby. There are a couple of cork boards on the wall, but it's not really possible to overpower a man with thumbtacks. Jongdae forces himself to focus and sound calm. "You've got some balls, man," he says, "kidnapping an SMPA detective right outside the fucking building." 

The man doesn't reply right away. He's short but not small, and his hands are deceptively strong; Jongdae knows that already. Eventually he lifts black eyes to meet Jongdae's and shrugs. "That's why it worked. Nobody plans for balls nowadays." He gestures to a battered folding chair, half hidden in a corner. "Sit the fuck down, Detective. I'll tell you why you're here." 

"I'm guessing it's not death." Frankly, he'd be out of service already if this dangerously gutsy motherfucker wanted him dead. "And if you don't want me dead, why didn't you just make a fucking appointment?"

The punch in the face is unexpected, which Jongdae curses himself for; he should have seen that coming. Anybody with this high an opinion of himself isn't going to care about roughing up a cop. Still, he feels his ass hit the cracked plastic seat; the little bastard even knew how to aim in a way that would take him off his feet. That requires either thunderous luck, or a decent amount of knowledge. 

Jongdae feels his face. "If you weren't trying to intimidate me, I'd actually be kind of impressed." He actually half means it; it's rare to find a cop _or_ a criminal these days with brains and balls to go around. "So, who the hell are you and how can I fucking help you, citizen?"

The man seems to be slightly amused himself, sitting on the other chair in the room, which is in marginally better shape. "You can call me D.O.," he says, "And I need to know what you know about Kim Minseok." 

The name hits Jongdae like the proverbial punch in the gut, but instead of leaving him winded, it spikes his adrenaline. "Why? You can't possibly expect me to tell you anything without knowing why." 

The man called D.O. raises one eyebrow into a nonverbal "bitch please," sitting back in his chair. "Because he needs to be found, fucking obviously." 

"You're not Chinese." At least he doesn't look it. "The Ordinary Group are the only ones who want to find Minseok, and it's not for good reasons." Well. The SMPA obviously has their reasons for wanting to talk to his friend. But they aren't as immediately life-or-genital-threatening as the Chinese would be. Still, it's not a bad thing to be honest, at least about that - besides, Minseok's vanishing isn't some secret. It's probably common knowledge in the underworld. "Beyond the Yangcheon-gu tong guys, I have no fucking clue what anyone wants with him." 

"I think you do." It's said simply and calmly, but Jongdae instantly knows that there is threat behind it. "Your Academy records show you two joined at the goddamn hip for six years. You're basically best friends. He would have confided in you, if he talked to anyone." 

The logic is simple, and in most cases, probably sound, but here, it's off the mark. Jongdae can feel his cheeks grow hot as he looks down, but it's from anger, not embarrassment or fear. "Maybe he didn't confide in anyone at all." He knows his tone is sharp, and he knows it's likely a terrible idea, but after a point, he just doesn't care. It's been too long, it cuts too deep. 

He expects this asshole to laugh at him, but instead, D.O. just frowns, thinking. "Unlikely," he finally says, an unpredictable smile crossing his features. "Come on, Detective. Somebody in his position would go nuts keeping all the fucking secrets. He had to vent to somebody." 

"Well, it wasn't fucking me, okay?" Jongdae doesn't like that smile, turning his head away. 

"Why are you lying?" The man called D.O. asks calmly. "You don't owe him shit. He betrayed you. You don't protect betrayers." 

"I'm not lying." He almost wishes he was. "I'm fuckin' telling you, talk to the Chinese if you want to find out more about his enemies." 

"I don't necessarily want to know about his enemies. I want to know what makes him tick." D.O. is staring at him now. "What possesses a guy like that to give up his hotshot career and risk pissing off pretty much the entirety of the Korean arm of the Triads? At least if he hadn't gone rogue, it'd only be the Chinese mad at him, instead of, I don't know, seemingly every-fucking-body in this town." 

"Your guess is as good as mine, goddammit." Jongdae can't restrain the sharpness and impatience anymore. "He was my best friend, he was one of the best cops I've ever met, and I found out he'd stolen shit from that tong and disappeared with a hostage by getting called into the captain's office on a morning when frankly, I'd already stepped in literal dog shit, okay?" He can't help himself; he kicks the nearest wine barrel as hard as he can, just needing to get it out in a way that doesn't involve trying to rush the armed man in front of him. Thankfully, the barrel doesn't break, but it crunches a few toes, and he can't stop the yowl of pain. Just another goddamn thing to chalk up to Minseok.

D.O. doesn't say a word during this entire mini-tantrum, just sitting there, observing. When Jongdae shows signs of calming down, he says, "I'm beginning to believe you." He rises, stepping over to stand above Jongdae's chair. "I don't think you're that good of an actor." 

"Beginning to?" Jongdae can't help but question his words with a sliver of interest, even as the rest of him is about ready to shut down and accept whatever comes. He's too fucking tired for this; slivers of hope are more annoyances than anything to get excited about. 

Instead of responding, the other man reacts. It's so fast that Jongdae barely has time to process that D.O. has grabbed his hand, and he's only just caught up with that revelation as he feels a sharp instrument being driven through his palm. 

His head swims. His limbs are not his own suddenly; he looks up to his right and sees a human hand pinned to the thick cork board on the wall, a pearl-handled switchblade sticking out at him like a middle finger. Is it his? Human voices are suddenly rushing in his ear. Is he talking, or is D.O.? Jongdae tries to take stock of the situation, but words don't come out, only a shaky breath halfway between a scream and a groan. Then everything goes black, the floor rushing up to hit him in the face.

He doesn't know how long it is between then and now, but when he wakes, he's on his back, on some kind of military cot. His hand is un-stuck, bandaged neatly, but still throbbing. Jongdae groans softly, feeling a surge of nausea, and leaning instantly to his left to vomit. He jumps back, though, when he hears a noise of disgust. "Ugh, not on my shoes, you pussy." 

Jongdae manages to vomit over to his right instead, laying back on whatever surface he's been placed on. "Fuck off," he half whispers, presuming it's the mysterious D.O. who's talking to him. 

"No, thanks. I'm thinking you still might be able to help me, even if you really don't know anything about what happened to your best friend." D.O. says it innocently, but Jongdae hears the slight emphasis on the word _anything._

He vaults up to a sitting position, wincing at a wave of dizziness, but angry enough to ignore it. " _Help_ you? Are you fucking nuts? I could lose the use of my hand, and you want my _help_?"

"Don't be such a bitch." D.O. rolls his eyes. "It went clean through, and I had to see if you really didn't know anything. You whined so much at the pain that I think you'd have confessed to being the Hwaesong killer if I asked. You really don't know anything about where your boy is or why he split." 

"Yeah, none of this clears up the fact you fuckin' put a switchblade through my hand!" Jongdae snaps. "I should haul you in for assaulting a police officer. You're not getting shit from me." And if this psycho kills him now, then so fucking be it. 

"You won't do that." D.O. doesn't even sound ruffled by his threat. "Just tell me what's going on with the Oh case - it's assigned to your boy - and then if you want, you can go try to prove I fucked you up. The only witness you have is the cab driver, who's one of mine." 

Jongdae is about to loudly question who 'mine' is, but he can't help but raise an eyebrow first. "Oh?" He echoes, trying to remember. "Is that the rape in Gwanak-gu?" Minseok didn't have many cases assigned to him. The tong was his primary goal. 

"No." For the first time, he sees D.O. confused. "The assault, in Geumcheon-gu." 

"That isn't one of his." Jongdae shakes his head. "I worked right next to his desk, and he only had three cases aside from the gang shit in the like, three months before he split. A rape in Gwanak-gu, a domestic disturbance in Jongno, and a drug dealer in Mapo." 

"You have to be wrong. This case was assigned to him. My boss told me specifically it was his name. Well." D.O. amends, "the big boss told my boss. The chairman isn't wrong about shit like this." 

"Apparently he is, because those are his only cases." Jongdae's sure the more he thinks about it. "I got 'em dumped on me, so I know." 

"This doesn't make fucking sense." D.O. growls, sighing, expelling the air forcefully through pooched-out lips. He starts pacing around, and Jongdae lays back down, still dizzy. He wonders if it's loss of blood, lack of sleep, a caffeine headache, or all three. 

D.O. pulls him back to a seated position, though, which makes him glare, but the other man speaks too quickly for Jongdae to grouse. "I'll play with you, so you play with me," he says, looking right into Jongdae's eyes. "Oh Sehun is one of Byun Baekhyun's guys. A kid. Maybe twenty-two. About three weeks ago, maybe a month, he got jumped in his own apartment and beat the fuck up. He's gonna live, but he's got mild brain damage and he's blind now."

"Jesus." Jongdae is a Christian, if a crappy one, and that's pretty rough, even for a gang associate. 

"Yeah. We thought it was the Chinese tong guys from Yangcheon-gu - they hate us - but a few days ago, I'd say maybe three or four, Byun calls my boss and gives him a name. Says the case is assigned to this dirty cop, Kim Minseok. This rogue cop who's awol. He's sure about it. Said the cop might even have helped the Chinese do it." Jongdae raises an eyebrow, and D.O. nods. "Why the fuck would Byun say all that if it was bullshit? Did he want us to look into the guy? If he did, why not just say so?"

"And why?" Jongdae gives voice to what the most obvious weirdness is, at least for him. "Why is Byun fucking Baekhyun even giving a shit about this? I mean, yeah, you said it was one of his guys, but why's he trying to frame Minseok for it - because it sure sounds like that's what he's trying to do? What's in it for him?"

"That's just it. I don't know." D.O. looks like the type of guy who _hates_ not knowing things. Jongdae can empathize with that. But then he asks, "Are we sure it's a frame up? Are we sure he didn't do it and then vanish, and Byun just fucked up about whose case it was?"

"He's been awol for longer than three weeks." 

"Doesn't matter." 

"Doesn't it?" Jongdae has to work to keep his voice calm and even. Because in truth, this crazy asshole has a point. He doesn't know where Minseok has been. He could have been in Korea. And God knows there are reasons a cop might want to try and kill one of Byun Baekhyun's men. But he doesn't want to fucking think about that, because that means Jongdae has never known Minseok at all. 

D.O. sighs, a gesture Jongdae doesn't expect. "Look. For all I know, Byun has his reasons to point the finger at your boy. But it isn't like a cop never went rogue before. You're pissed, I can see that, hell, a blind man could see it, but odds are it wasn't fucking personal, Detective. And he could have fucked up the boy." 

"Never mind that shit." He's not talking about his relationship with Minseok with a sawed-off psycho who still hasn't apologized for jamming a stiletto through his hand. "You do have me interested in this, though. I'll give you that. Byun Baekhyun is not nearly as stupid as he acts." There has to be something behind the weird discrepancy. 

"No, he's not. But you still need to face fucking facts." D.O. reaches out a hand and yanks Jongdae to his feet. "I know you don't want your friend to be a criminal or whatever, but you aren't doing your job if you ignore the possibility. You're the kind of guy that probably bugs. And I don't know. I'd kinda like to know what the fuck is going on. Whether you like it or not. You gotta admit, your friend makes more sense than Byun practically offing his own guy." 

Jongdae jerks his hand away from D.O.'s, still stung that he's getting career and life advice from a lunatic gangster. "It doesn't make sense at all. I know the guy." He's reeling, grasping at straws, and on some level he knows that, but he still keeps talking. "I'd bet ... I don't know. I'll ... suck your dick or something if he's the one who beat up your friend. It's that stupid." 

D.O. raises an eyebrow, and starts to laugh. "Well, for your sake, I hope you're right. And for mine, for that matter. You look like you'd give a fucking terrible blow job, Detective, and I like my dick where it is." He beckons. "Come on. We're going to see Byun. It's the only way to figure this shit out." 

Jongdae doesn't question the rightness of that, but he can't deny he's slightly stung at the affront to his sexual prowess. "The fuck is that supposed to mean? And if seeing Byun Baekhyun was the answer, why didn't you just do that yourself?"

"Because he'd either lie to me, or tell me I didn't have a right to know, and probably kick my ass for asking. He'll probably talk to you." D.O. shrugs. "And I don't know, you look like you like girls. Eating a girl out is different from sucking dick."

"You'd know?" Jongdae's tone is derisive. 

"Well, not that it's any of your fucking business." D.O. sounds nonplussed as he hits the elevator button. "Sex is sex. If someone wants to fuck me, I'm generally game." 

"Progressive, for a psycho." Jongdae's saltier than he probably ought to be, but he's more than a bit tired of this, and more than a bit pissed off that now on top of everything else, people are calling Minseok a potential killer. It's bullshit. He _will_ look at the Oh file, though. Whoever has it. And he _will_ get to the bottom of this. Not for Byun Baekhyun. Just for himself. 

Something does occur to him in the elevator, though, and he brings it up. "Assume for a second that Minseok's guilty," Jongdae says. "If he's guilty. We still need a reason why Baekhyun acted like it was Minseok's case. Do you just think he fucked up?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense." D.O. replies as the elevator dings and the door opens. "Byun almost never fucks up details like that, but it's the only logical assumption." He walks out of the elevator, beckoning Jongdae toward a back door, past the club's kitchen. "If you try to run, Detective, I really will fuck you up." 

It's tempting, but he doesn't actually want to run right now. Some perverse stubbornness is keeping him there. Jongdae, quite simply, wants to _know._ "Okay. Assume Minseok's innocent now. Why would Byun try to frame him? We keep coming back to that." 

D.O. simply rolls his eyes, reaching down and pulling open a battered garage door. Jongdae continues. "If Minseok's innocent, Baekhyun's sending your boss to kill an innocent man. Why would he do that?"

"That's what you want to know, isn't it?" D.O. asks, in between huffs of air as he lifts the garage door. "What's in it for Byun? Because if your friend's guilty, what's "in it" for him is getting an asshole killed while keeping his hands clean." 

That hurts. It hurts how much sense it makes. Jongdae goes quiet, choosing to focus on just how the hell he's going to talk to Byun Baekhyun about all this without getting a hit put on him later. 

Once they're in the car, D.O. reaches into the glove compartment and extracts a blindfold. "I know it's cliche, but it's honestly probably fucking safer for you, Detective. So put it on." 

"I want a weapon first." Fuck no, he's not sitting in a car going God knows where with a psychopathic gangster and no way to see death coming. 

D.O. rolls his eyes again. "No weapon. Get in the back, so I can't touch you. I'll drive you like a motherfucking chauffeur, if it's so important." 

It's an acceptable compromise, but Jongdae can't help sniping as he climbs over the seat. "I'm sorry for questioning your motives, Mister _I-Put-A-Stiletto-Through-Someone's-Fucking-Hand-For-Kicks_." 

"You're such a bitch." D.O. starts the car, backing out slowly once he's sure Jongdae has the blindfold on tight. "Do they not hire men at the SMPA anymore?" 

"Go fuck yourself." Jongdae is not in the mood for this.

"You promised to help with that later, bitch." D.O. shuts up, mercifully, and starts to drive. Jongdae tries to keep track of the turns and straightaways, but loses track somewhere in Dongdaemun. It's still a reasonable effort; there are a lot of clubs and rich private homes in this area. When the car stops, he pulls off the blindfold before being told to, looking up at the house they've come to visit. It's enormous, but not ostentatious; it's a traditional style hanok in a neighborhood full of them, and it blends right in. Jongdae has to appreciate the man's discretion. 

He waits until D.O. leaves the car before he opens his own door, tossing the blindfold in the back seat. "Should I let you do the talking?" Jongdae asks under his breath as they head for the entrance. 

"Not necessarily. Just go with it." D.O. replies. "By the way, he'll use my name, so you can quit calling me D.O., okay?" Jongdae nods, expectant, and eventually it comes out. "It's Kyungsoo." 

Kyungsoo. Okay. Jongdae shrugs. "I've heard worse." 

The door is opened for them, and Kyungsoo speaks to the pretty girl in the housekeeper's uniform, asking if Byun- _ssi_ has a moment to spare. It's oddly funny watching Kyungsoo get all deferential, when Jongdae's reasonably sure he's been seeing the man's actual personality all fucking afternoon. Still, he doesn't crack wise, at least not yet. He's taking in the details. Who knows what might be important. 

After a couple of minutes in an entryway that looks ripped from an English castle, they're shown into what Jongdae guesses is a living room or study. It's got a big, heavy desk in one corner, papers in neat stacks on top, and a grey chaise lounge nearby that looks like it's never been touched. Maybe it hasn't. There are paintings on the walls, but they're both simple, elegant hanja painted in smooth black strokes. This room belongs to a man who is intelligent and refined. Or at least wants to look like he is. 

The man himself is pouring a glass of something that looks alcoholic, from a bottle nestled in ice in a freestanding bucket. "Kyungsoo, hi. What brings you here?" Byun Baekhyun is all smiles, extending both hands to Kyungsoo, who inclines his head over them, before turning to Jongdae. "My name is Byun Baekhyun. The housekeeper Jihyun says you're a detective?"

Jongdae tactfully pretends not to see the _look_ shot toward Kyungsoo. "Yes, that's right. My name is Kim Jongdae." He inclines his head, the least amount of bowing he can get away with in front of this shithead. "I'm sorry to bother you at home, but it's important and I'm hopeful you might be able to assist me in your capacity as a businessman." 

"Of course, Detective Kim." Byun looks expectantly at Jongdae. "Go ahead. I'm presuming this is about my employee? I've been waiting for someone to come talk to me, honestly." 

The implied slight is irritating, but Jongdae keeps his calm. He'll need it. "I've been advised by confidential sources that you might have some kind of information to contribute. Namely, shedding some light on how one of my colleagues might be involved. You told someone it was his case?" 

"Ah. The other Detective Kim. Yeah." Byun nods, gesturing to the chaise. "Sit, both of you." He eases into the heavy leather chair behind the imposing desk before continuing, sipping what Jongdae guesses is soju. "I did hear that Kim Minseok might have been involved in the attack on my employee, Sehun. I can't give you the name of who told me, but I trust this source. And to be clear, he didn't say in what way Detective Kim might have been involved, just that he was. I thought it was his case, but I could have been wrong, I suppose."

This is bullshit, and Byun knows it's bullshit. "With respect, sir, that's hearsay. While I might take your word, a court won't." Jongdae tries to think of how to word his next question, then decides he doesn't care that much. "So you trust this source so much that on the strength of his or her word, but you didn't come to us to advise us what direction to proceed in with the investigation?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kyungsoo's mouth turn up on one side in what might have been a smirk. Byun raises an eyebrow. "I don't want to be rude, _hyeongsanim_ , but Detective Kim defected to the Chinese out of your office. How can I trust that anything I might say wouldn't be used for the wrong purposes? What if Detective Kim had an ally?" 

"Because the Chinese interests are generally diametrically opposed to yours." Jongdae isn't playing around. "But excuse me, Detective Kim wasn't an employee, was he? It isn't as if he would know anything proprietary about your business. Legitimate or otherwise." 

The moment of truth comes and goes without nearly as much fanfare as one might expect it to have. "Detective Kim was on my payroll," Byun says, "but I suppose it's true that he wouldn't have much proprietary knowledge. He was mostly just doing small favors for me. It's not against regulations for detectives to moonlight, is it? He told me it wasn't." 

A literal slap across his face would have hurt less. Hell, when Kyungsoo punched him it hurt less. Jongdae, frankly, forgets himself. "Minseok was _working for you_?" he spits, some part of his brain trying to get the rest of it into a chokehold. "For you _and_ the Chinese?" 

Byun smiles, but it's bitter as gall. "I promise you, I had no idea. I would have fired him in a nanosecond." 

"Why didn't he tell us about you?" Jongdae's still furious ( _heartbroken_ ), reeling, ( _disbelieving_ ), out of control. "He was a fucking cop. Why wasn't he spying on you? He should have been!" 

Kyungsoo steps in front of him as his voice raises, both hands up in surrender. "Don't, Detective," he says in a low voice. "Don't do it." 

"It's all right, Kyungsoo." Byun rises, coming out from behind the desk, going so far as to put an arm around Jongdae. "I understand. I've read about Detective Kim here. When one's best friend does something unthinkable, they lash out at anyone they can." 

Jongdae jerks away, wishing desperately for a weapon - something, anything. "Don't fucking patronize me." 

"Then don't act like a child." Byun's tone is calm, even slightly concerned. "I understand your anger, Detective, I promise, but you've got nothing on me, and you need to face facts. We don't keep employment records, but if you need proof he worked here, I can give you witnesses. And anyway, isn't this irrelevant? Detective Kim worked for me, yes, but there's no reason I would want him to almost kill one of my own guys." 

Jongdae opens his mouth to snap back, but for once, he's got nothing. It's true. Byun Baekhyun is not the type to sacrifice one of his men; if this Sehun kid had fucked up, he'd have been quietly strangled or beaten to death in an alley, not in his own flat. There's no reason for Byun to want the kid dead that he knows of - which means there's no reason for him to frame Minseok. Why frame Minseok if it isn't to take attention off himself? If anything, the kid having brain damage, maybe amnesia, seals it - if Byun had done it, he'd beat the kid up just a little and order him to finger Minseok. 

Byun pats his back, which makes him feel sick. "If it's any consolation, he betrayed everyone, from what I understand. Even the Chinese." Jongdae looks up at that, confused, and the man laughs mirthlessly. "The rumor is that he ran off with items he stole from the Chinese, as well as a pretty Triad boy, as a hostage, I guess." Another laugh, which rings horribly hollow and angry underneath. "He runs off with the pretty boy, and we're the ones who get fucked!"

Jongdae hadn't known that the hostage is Chinese. "A Triad boy?" 

"Allegedly." Byun shakes his head, going back to his glass of soju. "God only knows who he's actually working for, if he's basically fucked us all. Pyongyang? The Americans?"

Once upon a time, Jongdae might have spoken up against that, but now, he's just tired. In a low voice, he says, "Thank you for your time, Byun- _ssi._ I shouldn't trouble you any longer. I'm sure you have a full schedule of murder and extortion to get back to."

He hears Kyungsoo draw in his breath sharply, and waits for the blow, but Byun just smiles and shakes his head. "Public officials can still be sued for slander, Detective. Now fuck off." 

"With pleasure." Without further word, Jongdae turns and stalks through the doorway, needing to be somewhere, anyplace except this smothering room with its fake furnishings and fake sympathy. 

He's half in tears by the time he reaches the curb, and full on crying by the time he sinks down against the far side of the car, burying his face in his hands and bawling like a snot-nosed child. Jongdae holds his heroes close, and to find out Minseok isn't worthy of being anything close to a hero is something he's worked hard to avoid hearing. His kind, funny, whip-smart best friend - _that I'm in love with, let's be fucking real_ \- is a lying, cheating gangster, who might conceivably have beaten a twenty-two year old kid half to death. He wants to just stay here, and cry, and never, ever stop. 

One of the few ways this could get worse suddenly manifests itself, when he hears an awkward Kyungsoo standing nearby. "Detective, we gotta go." 

"Oh, Christ, just leave me here, please?" Jongdae can barely speak for sobbing, and that pisses him off more. "Just go, please, leave me alone." He can't handle more of Kyungsoo's psycho crap. Not right now. 

Instead of acceding to this perfectly reasonable request, Kyungsoo instead drags Jongdae to his feet, using the side of the car as leverage, and pushes him inside. "I'm not fucking leaving you here. Byun might realize he didn't kill you and fix his mistake, and then I'd go to prison for him." He locks the door behind Jongdae from the outside, ignoring Jongdae's rich swearing as he realizes the child lock is on. The car starts, and Jongdae curls himself into a ball and tries to calm down.

Somewhere in the depths of his staggering mind, though, Jongdae realizes Kyungsoo has a point; he'd more than half expected Byun to stab him in the eyeball for his disrespect. Just because the man acts happy-go-lucky doesn't mean he'll tolerate insults, or at least that's what Jongdae's been told. Why _didn't_ he kill him? 

And yet, it's too hard to care right now. As Kyungsoo guides the car back over the river into Apgujeong, Jongdae does smile weakly through tears. "Hey, at least we didn't get proof of who beat up the kid. I don't have to suck your dick." 

"Thank God for that." Kyungsoo replies, taking a left. "I mean, I'm not a guy to turn down a good blow job, but I'm not sure it'd be a good one." 

"Fuck you." Jongdae sighs, feeling suddenly drained. "Honestly, are you such an asshole to everyone? This is quite literally one of the worst days of my entire life. Don't make it worse." 

"By impugning your sexual ability?" Kyungsoo crooks an eyebrow. He pulls onto a small side street. "Detective, have you ever gotten laid in your entire fucking life? You're such a fucking tightass, I'm not sure." 

"If you weren't driving, I'd be fucking swinging on you." Jongdae would growl if he had the energy. "If I ever arrest you, it's gonna feel so good I'll probably jizz right then and there." 

Kyungsoo swerves the car abruptly into a deserted parking lot, glaring over at him. "That is fucking _it_ ," he breathes, radiating anger. Which is why Jongdae is a little taken aback when his mouth meets Kyungsoo's in a kiss he can only describe as passionate. 

The damnable thing is, it's not terrible. The man knows what to do with his mouth, including the tongue, which just touches on his, not getting sloppy like so many men and women he's had before. Kyungsoo saws his lips to one side for some air, but he doesn't let up, even nipping on Jongdae's lower lip - more than nipping; it's outright biting after a while. 

When Kyungsoo finally lets him come up for air, Jongdae can barely splutter a confused what-the-fuck before Kyungsoo gnaws on his neck in a not unpleasurable way. "Shut up," he hears. "Just shut your fucking mouth for once." He climbs into Jongdae's lap with some difficulty, squeezing into the space with the glove compartment half shoving against his ass, and goes back to kissing Jongdae, which effectively shuts his mouth for him. 

It irritates Jongdae that he's enjoying this, and that he may be getting the beginnings of a boner from the way Kyungsoo is rubbing himself across Jongdae's hips. "Stop that," he demands, but it's a half-hearted command that Kyungsoo utterly ignores. In fact, he grinds harder, and Jongdae can feel not only his own erection as it persists, but Kyungsoo's. It's frustrating as hell - normally he doesn't mind that his dick is basically on autopilot when it gets stroked the right way, but right now, it's a matter of pride. 

Kyungsoo seems to know that, and smirks, starting to unbutton Jongdae's shirt. He bites _hard_ on Jongdae's collarbone, and damn if it doesn't wring something like a moan out of him even as he tries to strip Kyungsoo just as effectively.

Kyungsoo laughs like Muttley the cartoon dog, hissing through his teeth. "Hm," he murmurs, in between open-mouthed kisses against Jongdae's chest. "Are you into biting or just into pain?"

Jongdae doesn't answer, as one, it's beneath him, and two, Kyungsoo is biting his way down his chest, pausing to flick his tongue over an exposed nipple. It is officially embarrassing how well Kyungsoo's guessing his weak spots, though, and Jongdae yanks on his hair as Kyungsoo settles between Jongdae's legs, smirking. The smirk, thankfully, is replaced by an irritated look and a groan that somehow goes straight to Jongdae's gut. And crotch. 

It makes Jongdae smirk. "You might be the pain slut here."

"Kiss my ass." Kyungsoo growls, whipping Jongdae's belt out of his trousers and gripping him hard through the fabric. The friction is too much, but only just, and Jongdae yelps, head falling back against the seat. 

He hears a zipper and feels Kyungsoo's hand around his cock, but when he looks down again, he can see those dark eyes staring back up at him in what can only be a smirk. "What?" Jongdae manages, resolving that under no circumstances will he beg this asshole to stop screwing around and fucking suck his dick already. 

"Nothing, nothing." Kyungsoo's still smirking. "Guess some people have to be below the national average." 

Jongdae feels the color rise in his cheeks. "You talk a big game, for someone who's got a fucking Chapstick if you're proportional." 

Kyungsoo actually laughs. "Cute." But then he shuts the fuck up - _finally_ \- and wraps his lips around Jongdae's dick, swallowing in two breaths, which does make it Jongdae's turn to smirk. He's not some kind of deep throating savant then, the fucker. 

But he is, annoyingly, good at giving head. After a second to get his bearings, Kyungsoo goes hard. None of this weak-ass delicate action; Kyungsoo uses his tongue and his throat and even his voice box, at one point humming softly as he takes Jongdae as far back in his throat as he can, which damn near makes Jongdae's hips cant up out of the seat, eyes going wide and a loud sigh escaping his throat. He's not a complete asshole, though, and manages to gasp a "Sorry," as he tries to calm down. 

Kyungsoo doesn't reply, but he doesn't do anything punitive, either, which makes Jongdae wonder if he likes it. He pulls hard on Kyungsoo's hair, wincing at the pain in his wounded hand. In reply, Kyungsoo bears off almost completely, licking around his slit and making it oversensitive. "Fuck me," Jongdae pants, "that's dirty." Evil might be closer to the mark, but that would give Kyungsoo way too much satisfaction. 

"I'll show you fucking dirty," Kyungsoo breathes, tonguing around the underside of Jongdae's dick, "if you have a condom." 

Something about that still seems like a bad idea. "You do not get to fuck me," Jongdae manages, shaking his head even as he's trying not to arch his hips up toward Kyungsoo's mouth. 

"I don't want to fuck you." Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up? Put the seat back." 

Something in him makes him obey, grabbing the lever and feeling his weight carry him backward until he's basically lying down in the car. There's a pulling at his trousers, and Jongdae arches his hips up to help Kyungsoo take them off, wincing as his underwear gets yanked over sensitive flesh. "What are you going - "

"Aha." Kyungsoo holds up a condom, ripping the packet open. "The lubed kind. Nice." 

"That was in my wallet! The fuck?"

"Get over it." Kyungsoo roughly grabs Jongdae's dick again, stroking hard, thumb pressing down, even as he fumbles in his own pocket for something. "Put your legs up. And don't put your fucking feet on my shoulders like a woman." 

"This better be good, shithead." Jongdae's curious; it's been a long time since he fucked a guy, and his ex-lovers had been kind of vanilla. What was Kyungsoo planning?

What Kyungsoo is planning, apparently, is to use more lube, then work a couple of fingers into his ass and crook them. It isn't as good as one might think; it actually kind of hurts. "Ow! Fuck!" 

Kyungsoo doesn't stop, and Jongdae has to wonder how he's gotten himself into this situation. "Kyungsoo, goddammit, that - "

"Shut _up._ God. Maybe you'll have to suck my dick just to keep you quiet." Kyungsoo slows down and straightens out his fingers, and just as Jongdae is about to yell again, the pain crashes away like a wrecking ball hitting a building, leaving something urgent and throbbing that can only be described as holy-shit-nice. Fuck pride; he moans and lets his neck go limp, feet scrabbling for purchase on the faux-leather seat. 

Oddly, when he stops talking, he doesn't hear Kyungsoo talking, either. It would be easy for the other to taunt him or crack wise, but he's just quiet, at least for the most part; Jongdae dimly hears soft, wet sounds and figures Kyungsoo's probably taking care of his own boner. In his deepest, darkest dreams, he can admit this is a little nice. Not thinking about life bullshit, just focusing on the pointed, spiky frissons of pleasure building and building like broken bricks in a wall. He can almost forget he's where he is, and who he is. As Kyungsoo's fingers jab his prostate once, twice, three times, he tries to warn the other, then just wraps a hand around his own dick and pumps frantically. 

When he comes, though, it's hard, and the whispered word on his lips is _Minseok_ , not _Kyungsoo._

He's just glad it wasn't out loud.

After he's calmed, and his breathing has returned to normal, he puts the seat back up, reaching for the scraps of paper in his pocket to dab the jizz off his stomach. Kyungsoo wordlessly hands him a tissue, breathing out, trying to act calm, but even an idiot (Jongdae) can see he's not finished. 

Eventually, he speaks. "Where are we, Seocho?" 

"Yeah." Kyungsoo replies. 

"I live in Gwanak. Less than five minutes. You're getting that blow job, whether you like it or not." 

That makes Kyungsoo laugh, as uncomfortable as he must be physically. Jongdae opens the car door, letting him out, then sliding over the bench seat to get into the driver's side. "Still not expecting a lot," Kyungsoo cracks, easing up into the passenger seat with a wince. "But at least you're a man of your word, Detective." 

"Yes, I fucking am, you criminal degenerate." Jongdae starts the car, trying to ignore the pain in his ass and his hand, hoping he can somehow make Kyungsoo understand that he's grateful without making it a production. The only way he can think of is to follow through on his stupid bet. Because technically, even if Minseok didn't beat up the kid, Sehun, he's still complicit. He's still on the run. He's still a rogue, a disgrace to the uniform. Kyungsoo, at least, has helped remind him that he is not. 

Later that night, Kyungsoo gets his blow job, and grudgingly admits that Jongdae acquits himself honorably. 

Jongdae leaves him a note with his number on it the next morning, when he leaves for Yangcheon-gu. Right now, Minseok's hostage is the loose thread. It's up to him to pick it up.


End file.
